


Côte Rouge

by Roxxy



Category: Star Wars RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, First Time, France (Country), Kissing, M/M, Romance, Smoking, Spring Fling, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 08:07:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3888733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roxxy/pseuds/Roxxy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hayden pulls his second cigarette out of the crumpled pack on his thigh and lights it. He figures it's supposed to be nice. Being here. Sunny, breezy days and the smell of dough and nicotine in the air. Faded pavers, flapping awning and low buildings that disguise themselves as old. Everything is a fuckin' cliché. And that damned movie still has to be done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Côte Rouge

**Author's Note:**

> I never believed I would write RPS after all these years, but here I am. Well, first of all, if I totally blew it with all the French stuff, forgive me (and more importantly, correct me). I have no knowledge of the language, nor have I ever been to France. Yes, and I felt competent enough to write about it. *shakes head at self*
> 
> Second... Hayden, darling, if you happened to stumble upon this by any miracle of the Devil: I AM SORRY. I really am.  
> Ewan, dear, I know you'd get a good laugh out of this.
> 
> Also, I didn't write down the time-frame on purpose. You can place it anywhere between two and ten years after ROTS.
> 
> Partially inspired by the song "Foreign Affair" by Tina Turner.

Hayden hates France. Well, actually, hate is the wrong word. To hate something would be to put conscious effort into sending negative thoughts that way, or something like that. He doesn't think about France, ever.

He isn't sure why he doesn't like it. If someone asked him to pinpoint the most unnerving thing about it, he couldn't tell. It's a feeling he gets when someone mentions it. He gave up trying to figure it out. It's simply one of those things a person carries with them.

He doesn't like France and he's okay with it. As long as nobody makes him spend time in it.

He's not very keen on this film either. He found it interesting at first, but now it seems redundant. And his sitting in this clunky chair, outside the tiny café somewhere in Nice feels like punishment. He isn't gonna get much cash out of it, either. Not that he does all this - whatever this is - for cash. But motivation is an important thing. Right now, he has none.

He pulls his second cigarette out of the crumpled pack on his thigh and lights it.

He figures it's supposed to be nice. Being here. Sunny, breezy days and the smell of dough and nicotine in the air. Faded pavers, flapping awning and low buildings that disguise themselves as old. Everything is a fuckin' cliché.

Hayden takes off his sunglasses and hooks them on the collar of his t-shirt. Wind brushes the cinders off his cigarette and down to his thigh. He sweeps them off with the back of a hand.

His cider sits on the wobbly table, warming up to the weather. His basic knowledge of the language could've provided him with something better, but it didn't. Cider was the first thing that came to mind and apparently another wrong choice. Besides, people here talk a weird kind of French.

He is about to stub his cigarette when a cluster of light laughter drifts to his ear.

For a moment, it almost reminds him of... Well, that thought hasn't crossed his mind in years.

Brow wrinkled, Hayden squishes the cigarette butt against the bottom of the brass ashtray. His gaze drifts across the table and to the nearest café. Young women are sitting with babies in strollers, their long calves accentuated by thin stilettos. Men are drinking from coffee cups and talking in low voices. Slender bodied waiters are carrying white trays.

Hayden grips his cider and the warm glass responds with a lack of condensation.

Superficially, he notes that his mood seems to be deteriorating with each passing minute. With each passing day, as well. Maybe it's that kind of a year. Or maybe he is getting lost in his character. That damned movie still has to be done.

As if to remind him why he's still wasting time, that breezy laughter drifts over to him once more.

Well. The last thing he needs is a bundle of melancholy and old memories.

Hayden rises from his seat and picks up his jacket from the wobbly metal chair. It continues clinking as he dresses up. Taking one last look at the table, out of habit, he turns to leave. In that moment, his eyes make contact with another pair, in the café he scanned earlier.

He can't _not_ recognise that face. That smile is one of the oddest he has seen, and even years after, he isn't able to find a similar one.

His stomach lurches upwards in that familiar manner, the one only the man now looking at him can provoke.

Summers ago, Ewan McGregor used to be Hayden's best friend.

Well, he isn't sure if that's the right term. 'Best friends' title is a two-way street, isn't it? He has no idea where he used to stand in Ewan's mind.

Ewan was an easy man to love. He was likeable and Hayden took to him right away. At first meeting, he had a positive vibe about him and it took very little time to be sucked _into_ him. He didn't do anything special. He was one of those people that just existed the way they did and everybody liked them.

He befriended Hayden by the force of nature. And that one time, Hayden was the one whosimply existed and was liked just because of it. Ewan chose him and Hayden just had to go along with it.

They spent filming breaks together. They drank together, then passed out on top of each other. Ewan showed him his bikes, his house, his family. Hayden had nothing similar to offer in return. He entertained Ewan's daughter, for hours on end, if for nothing else, then for the mere fact that Ewan trusted him with her.

Ewan trusted him with everything.

And each time he did, he took a small part of Hayden with him. And Hayden clung to him, like so many other people did. Except, Hayden had no right.

No friend was allowed to stray in his thoughts the way he did.

It took one long-distance call for him to realise what he was doing - what he had been doing for the past year. The night was slimy and damp, and Hayden sat in his hotel room with a bottle of some spirit that was supposed to be the best in New South Wales. He was talking to Hejsa. It might've been Kaylen, just as well. It was late and he was tired. She sighed and it went through as static.

Hayden smiled. The tipsy, 3am kind of smile.

_„Ewan did the funniest thing today...”_

That's all he said before he bit his own tongue. If Hejsa had noticed anything over the previous months, she never mentioned it, but Hayden knew, because he wore off the rewind button in his mind. Every single conversation he had eventually circled something Ewan had said or done. He had woven himself into Hayden's mind and life and he had done it skillfully, casually.

And the sudden amount of Hayden's thoughts that Ewan consumed terrified him.

Hayden was the one who cooled things down in the end. It's incredible to think how easy it is to slide people out of your life. Too easy, sometimes.

There was no other option but to forge a distance, and that's what he reaffirmed every time that thought popped up.

These days, it doesn't happen too often.

And that's why Hayden ignores the flip in his stomach and the French breeze in his hair and proceeds to pull the jacket onto his shoulders without acknowledging the man.

Why Ewan proceeds to smile and talk to the two men he is sitting with, Hayden doesn't know.

In a distant part of his mind, that fact causes a pang of pain, but Hayden notices - with relief and melancholy - that it isn't nearly as heavy as he expected.

He breaks eye-contact as he straightens the lapels of his jacket, and a curtain of determination falls around him.

Soft sneakers rob his ears of the pleasure of clicking away. He slides the corner and heads to his hotel, dragging his fingers across the stony building walls.

He doesn't think about Ewan. Or he tries not to. He hasn't thought about him in a long while and he won't break his personal record by admitting failure.

„Excuse me, I believe you dropped this.”

This day is backwards. Or he is. He shouldn't have left his hotel room this morning.

Hayden bites his bottom lip, ignores his thumping heartbeat and turns around.

The afternoon sun casts orange rays all around the figure holding a cigarette pack— _his_ cigarette pack—but Hayden can see the face.

„Keep it,” He says, in a voice surprisingly devoid of emotion.

Ewan tilts his head to one side and his lips curl upwards. His eyes twinkle.

„Right,” Hayden nods. He reaches for the crumpled pack and the tips of their fingers brush against each other.

Hayden tries hard not to stiffen, and he pulls it off. His hands fall to the sides and the two of them stand there, looking at each other. Hayden still hasn't smiled at Ewan, and he can't. If he does, all the logs he had spent years lining up into a fortress will crumble. Just like that.

Ewan opens his forearms and Hayden expects to be yanked into an embrace, in a typical Ewan-manner. When he isn't, he realises his posture must be too off putting, or Ewan has simply changed.

A door in the back of his mind creaks and a box of memories and thoughts spills into his consciousness.

He inhales sharply and pushes the cigarette pack into the pocket of his jacket.

„How have you been?” He asks, and it sounds completely lame even to his own ears.

„You know you're not getting off that easily.” Ewan's feet swallow the precious distance between them and he claps Hayden firmly on the shoulder. „Coffee. Now.” His eyebrows rise and then he frowns. „Bugger. I forgot how tall you were.” His arm wraps around Hayden's shoulders and it's so familiar and soothing and Hayden almost leans into him.

Ewan ignores the personal space concept as usual and he plasters himself to Hayden's side. „You pick the place.”

 

They settle in a café not even 30 feet away, beneath the soft linen awning that shields the tables from the sun. For a long minute, they speak of nothing; irrelevant details and preferred drinks. When the waiter shows up, they faux-bicker about making the order and who knows the language better.

It almost feels familiar, but Hayden sobers up every time it starts to feel too much like 2004.

„Did you run after me?” Hayden asks and therefore breaks the unspoken promise of not mentioning the fact that they both saw each other and ignored it.

Ewan takes a sip of his coffee.

„You know what they say, good things are worth chasing.” He gives Hayden a glance that is nearly a leer and Hayden forces his throat not to constrict.

„But no, I didn't.”

Hayden makes an unimpressed grimace.

„Good to know.”

Ewan grins.

„Aw, love. For someone with such long legs, you're not so fast.”

Hayden shakes his head and a smile sneaks onto his face. He tries to wipe it off with a scowl.

„What about your friends? In the coffee place?”

„What about them?” Ewan shrugs with one shoulder.

„You just left them there.”

„I did no such thing.” Ewan dips his cookie into the foam and sucks on it.

Hayden blinks and averts his gaze.

An elderly gentleman with a walking cane attempts to shoo away a cat just outside of the café area. Sun reflects off the smooth pavers, casting yellow stripes along the floor around them. When Hayden looks back at Ewan, he's still sucking on the cookie.

„Are you gonna eat that?”

Ewan takes it out of his mouth.

„Why? You want it?”

Hayden makes a disgusted face.

„Like you wouldn't believe.”

Ewan grins and puts the cookie into his mouth. His cheeks stretch and his eyes continue tinkling.

He looks fresh. His skin is tan and his hair is wild. Thick and windblown, in a casual manner. He actually looks better than ever. It hurts a little, and Hayden tries not to think about the reason.

If he didn't know any better, he would be jealous of the apparent fact that Ewan has moved on, but that would be ridiculous because there was nothing to move on from.

Ewan leans over the table and props his torso on both forearms.

„Why are you in France?”

Hayden shrugs.

„I've got a passport.” His chin fights with his mouth for a while, but he manages not to grin. Two can play this game.

„Oh? They let you out of there?” Ewan swallows the bite and licks his lips, then his index finger. He wipes it on the napkin and leans forward again. „I thought Canada forbids exportation of national treasure.”

„Not really. They have plenty, so it's not a big deal.” Hayden scratches his nose. „Unlike, you know, Scotland.”

Ewan grins.

Hayden knows why. He probably thinks things are back the way they were.

But they're not. And that's good. And the playfulness Hayden feels in his stomach is something to be ignored.

„Seriously, how come you're here?”

Hayden leans back until the wicker chair crackles. „I'm shooting a movie. Got a day off.”

„I never thought I'd see you here.”

„That makes two of us,” Hayden says. „But since my patience is already being tried, I hope there's a reward for me out there. This is... too much for one year.”

Ewan puts his cup down and licks the foam from his lips. „Oh, yeah. I remember your disdain for all things France. Don't let Eve hear you say that, though.” He adds with mirth.

Hayden's gaze slides from Ewan's smiling face to his own coffee, sitting on the bright table cloth. „Right... Eve.”

The weak wind slaps the lapels of his jacket to his jaw.

„Hey.”

Hayden looks up at Ewan's concerned face.

„Something wrong?”

Hayden inhales through his nose and flicks the table cloth with two fingers. He settles on a simple answer.

„Earlier today, my cider was too warm. Now my coffee's too cold. I guess I gotta rethink some things.”

Ewan's expression relaxes and he takes a small breath.

„Bugger. Sounds like you do.” He smirks and shakes his head.

Silence descends upon them, bright and vivid. It brings forward the background chatter and the clinking of ceramic cups. Hayden doesn't try to speak, because the sooner Ewan starts feeling uncomfortable, the sooner he'll realise this was a mistake and leave, and Hayden will have peace once more.

At what cost, he tries not to think about.

„I think you owe me something.”

Hayden raises his head and stops swinging the cloth's end back and forth. He knows what Ewan is talking about. It's not hard to guess. He was hoping to wrap up this little reunion before the conversation strayed into this territory, but trust Ewan to hit the bull's eye when you least need it.

„What?”

Ewan is tipping the cup, pinky in the air. He puts the cup down, licks his bottom lip and sighs. For several moments, it seems he is satisfied with simply watching Hayden.

„How much time do you have?” He finally asks, adjusting the watch on his wrist.

Hayden releases the breath he was holding through his nose.

„Uh... not much, actually.” His gaze strays behind Ewan. „I have an early shoot tomorrow, so I have to catch a couple of hours of sleep.”

Ewan's face has lost the bold, playful expression, and he is now looking at Hayden in a somewhat sad way. Nearly disappointed, but not quite there.

„Do you have half an hour?”

If Hayden didn't know better, he would label Ewan's current expression as crestfallen.

„Uh—“

„Please.”

Hayden doesn't even begin to process Ewan's features because his mind is trying to wrap itself around the word Ewan has just said.

He has to say no, but there is no way he can.

„Yeah, okay.”

 

They end up at Hayden's hotel room, because Hayden is a pushover and he should never be allowed to talk to people again. Also, because Ewan wasn't planning on staying the night in this part of the country, so he doesn't have a place.

Not that Hayden is planning on keeping him around longer than necessary.

„Do you want something to drink?” Hayden asks in a surprisingly weary voice.

Ewan sits on the bed, his gaze following Hayden.

„I'm alright. But you go ahead.”

Hayden closes the bar and goes over to the nearest nightstand. He picks up the phone and presses a button.

„What would you like to eat?”

„Oh, I'm fine, thank you.”

If the conversation becomes even more washed out, Hayden will eat the receiver.

„Yeah, hi. Um,” He bites his lip and for some reason the word that comes out of his mouth is: „Cake. Uh, avez-vous... gâteau? Oui. No, uh— No chocolat.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to remember what he is supposed to answer. „Crème. Oui. Merci.”

Ewan is sitting in a sullen way - not typical for him - and it distracts Hayden. He covers the mouthpiece.

„Ewan, what do you want?”

„I'll just steal from your plate.” He twists his neck and smiles at Hayden.

„Yeah, uh, à deux fois. Merci beaucoup.”

When the phone is safely in its socket, Hayden is left alone with Ewan and he has never loathed the prospect as he does now. He walks over to the foot of the bed and sits by Ewan's side.

„Do you think we're gonna get spoons?”

Hayden glances at him. Ewan's leaning back on his arms, with a distant expression on his face. He's trying to be funny.

Hayden mirrors his position.

„We'll be lucky if they don't piss all over the frosting.”

Ewan looks at him with a small, incredulous frown.

„What?”

Hayden shrugs with one shoulder.

„I've been a real asshole to them ever since I got here. They might hold a grudge.”

Ewan soaks in that information for a mere second before he snorts.

„Sod off.” He bumps Hayden's thigh with a knee. „I thought you were being serious for a moment.”

„What? I _am_ serious.”

„You, an asshole to the staff?” One eyebrow rises. „I'd sooner believe you're secretly Japanese.”

„How the fuck can I _secretly_ be Japanese?”

„Don't ask me. You're the one who's all backwards, not me.”

Hayden shakes his head and smiles, rather instinctively.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't miss this. They used to have these stupid, empty conversations that made it seem like they were high, while completely sober. They had deep, meaningful debates, too, but it's these silly bits that Hayden misses the most.

„Why do you think I can't be rude to the staff?”

A knock comes at the door before Ewan has a chance to reply. Hayden gets up to let the room service in.

 

„I don’t know if you'll want to steal this,” he remarks with a grimace once they're alone again.

Ewan rises from where he was lying and props himself on both elbows.

„I'm not buying that the second time around.”

„Fine,” Hayden huffs with exaggeration. „I wanted to keep all of it for myself. You got me.” He puts the tray on the bed and sits down.

„Apricots,” Ewan exclaims with excitement. „Oh, Eve is gonna axe me in my sleep.”

Hayden ducks his head to chase a stray thread off his knee.

„Why?” He asks despite his better judgement.

„She loves them.” Ewan replies, scooting closer until Hayden is forced to pick up the tray and put it on his lap. Ewan's thigh finds its place against Hayden's. „They didn't bother with another dinner set, did they?”

„You didn't ask.” Hayden retorts with irritation in his voice, partly based on the fact that Ewan is closer to him than etiquette allows.

„I suppose I can eat with my fingers,” He starts, scratching his chin.

Hayden suppresses an eyeroll.

„You can use mine.” He moves the tray to the side so that it lays on both of their thighs.

„Bollocks. There's a little fork here,” Ewan points out as if Hayden didn't already see that. He stabs one of the apricot halves and pushes it into his mouth. „I should take a photograph.”

„What?” Hayden mumbles around his first bite.

Ewan gestures with his fork.

„A photo. And send it to Eve.” He grins and separates a chunk of cake from the big piece.

Cream turns sour in Hayden's mouth and his stomach knots. He drops his spoon to the plate and picks up a napkin from the corner of the tray.

„What's wrong?” Ewan asks, tongue and hand frozen in mid-motion.

„I, uh, I don’t think this sits well with me,” He answers truthfully.

„The cake? Do you want a glass of wat'r?”

„No, no,” His nostrils flare and he slides the tray to Ewan's lap. „I'm gonna get some fresh air.”

The sun is slowly slipping behind the faint shapes of the city as Hayden shuts the glass doors of the terrace behind him. He takes a deep breath. The air faintly smells of flowers.

The problem with him and Ewan was—well, the problem with him, actually—was that he didn't know what he wanted. Even back then, when they worked side by side every day, he had no idea what he wanted from Ewan. That one phone call with Hejsa didn't clarify things at all. It just brought his attention to the fact that he had a thing for Ewan.

It might've been sexual. He has always been exclusively attracted to women, but a man explores himself throughout his life.

It could've been sensual. He was a kid when they did those two movies; he might've found a hint of intimacy in Ewan.

Or perhaps it was just platonic. He'd be really fuckin' happy if it was, because all the other options leave him high and dry, in every scenario.

Hayden pulls a cigarette from his jeans and lights it with trembling hands. The first inhale calms him down a bit.

It's not platonic and he knows it. Otherwise he'd be inside right now, eating cake and talking about Eve's favorite fruit.

He drops both elbows on the railing and pulls the cigarette out of his mouth. The cinders disperse in the air and fade on their way down. Hayden loses sight of them before they reach the street far below.

„I haven't eaten since this morning, you know?”

Hayden twists his head around and lets the smoke out through his nostrils. He should've heard the swish of the door.

„Go ahead,” he points the cigarette-holding hand in the general direction of the room and attempts to smile.

Ewan tilts his head to the side.

„I'm not gonna eat your cake without you.”

„I am smoking without you,” Hayden notes.

„That's because yer a numpty,” Ewan mumbles and crosses the two steps between them. He pulls the cigarette from between Hayden's fingers and sucks on it. His eyes close.

Heat pools in Hayden's stomach and his mouth waters.

 Hayden clears his throat and swallows.

„I thought you quit.”

Ewan lets out a smoke filled breath and shrugs.

„It's not the first promise I broke today.” He glances at Hayden, whose stomach flips over for some reason.

Ewan crinkles the cigarette and flicks it off the balcony.

„I wasn't done,” Hayden says stubbornly.

„It's bad for ye.” Ewan slides the door to the side and slips into the room.

 

„How's... Rachel?”

Hayden glances up from his lap.

„Of course I know,” Ewan says before Hayden can reply. The fork disappears into his mouth and his lips form a hint of a smile.

Hayden's eardrums pulse with blood and the sound drowns everything else.

He's been pushing the thought of Rachel from his mind ever since he saw Ewan in that café, but the guilt is nothing compared to Ewan's impeccable talent for complely ruining his day.

„She's good.” She doesn't like apricots and that's perfectly fine.

„Did you take her bik—“

„No. She thinks it's dangerous.”

„Smart woman.”

„I think so.”

Ewan reaches out with his finger and Hayden stiffens and evades the touch. He swallows the blob of whipped cream before it gets stuck in his throat.

„What are you doing?”

„You've got a—“ Ewan gestures toward his own lips.

Hayden wipes his upper lip with the back of his hand. Ewan clicks his tongue.

„Over there,” He points to the right side.

Hayden licks his lips.

„Oh, wait,” His finger sweeps over the corner.

Ewan leans over and attempts to wipe it himself.

„Hey—” Hayden protests when the fork leaves a creamy trail on his cheek.

„Oh, sorry,” Ewan smiles and moves his hand away.

„I got it,” Hayden assures him, nearly certain that Ewan can feel his heart thrumming.

„I left more,” Ewan chuckles incredulously. He bats Hayden's hands away. „God, you still haven't gotten accustomed to your newly grown limbs, have you?”

„Fuck off. That might've been funny when I was twenty.” He pokes around his own face, trying to find the crumb, or whatever it is.

„You're not anymore?”

„I am gonna feed you this tray, through the other end.”

Ewan laughs and sighs when Hayden's hands get in the way again.

„Stop it. Hayden... Bloody—”

Ewan sweeps the cream from Hayden's lip and licks it off his finger.

„There.” He drops back to his haunches.

Hayden glares at him with wide eyes. There's an invisible hand squeezing his throat and blood is clogging his ears once more.

Ewan's gaze is focused on something on the side of Hayden's head. He reaches out, but his hand stops mid-air.

„What are you doing?” Hayden asks with a hoarse voice.

„Your hair. It's...” Ewan struggles for a moment. „I can't tuck it behind your ear anymore.”

Hayden's brain is sweating.

„You never did that.”

Ewan's gaze slides from Hayden's temple to his eyes.

„I wanted to. All the time.”

For a second, Hayden's throat is tight and dry and nothing comes out of it. He licks his lips and averts his gaze.

„Why are you doing this?” He feels anger rising from the bottom of his guts. He looks at Ewan again. „What are you trying to accomplish?”

Ewan opens his mouth.

„Why _now_?”

„Hayden... I haven't seen you in years.” Ewan says warmly.

„You didn't try.”

Ewan's mouth closes.

Hayden lowers his gaze to his lap.

He knows he went too far. They've just acknowledged the elephant in the room, and that cannot end well for anyone. Especially him.

„You didn't let me.”

It's a simple whisper. And it's the truth.

Hayden swallows and decides looking Ewan in the eyes would be at least an honorable thing to do, but it's the one thing he cannot do. He pushes the jacket sleeve off his wrist and blinks to clear his vision.

„It's been over half an hour. I should get some sleep.” Hayden rises from the bed and inhales. His nose is damp and his guts are still clenched.

„It's not even dark outside yet,” Ewan protests.

„I'm getting up at five.”

„It's seven in the bloody aft'rnoon!” Ewan says, frustration obvious in his tone.

„Yeah, well, I need several hours to fall asleep.”

Ewan is off the bed and in front of him in less than a second.

„I'm not leaving.”

He is so determined and so close that Hayden can smell the apricots and nicotine.

„Don't do this.” Hayden whispers. „You have no idea—” He presses his lips together and looks to the side.

The sun is already out of sight. The sky is bloody red.

Ewan leans in and cups Hayden's face. He waits until Hayden's eyes are on his, and then kisses him. Hot, sloppy and with a hint of reassurance.

Hayden shivers and his hands clench in Ewan's jacket. His knees wobble and he grunts into the kiss. Blood pumping is the only thing he can hear.

Ewan licks his upper lip and clasps it between his teeth.

„Fuck,” Hayden moans when his mouth is free. „Don't do this.”

Ewan breathes out and rubs his cheek against Hayden's jaw, slipping down the warm skin until he can kiss his neck.

Hayden's eyes flutter closed and he clutches Ewan's shoulders. It's so rewarding and safe and in that moment, he knows it's not only sexual, but much more than that.

He thinks he might've just crossed the line, but then it occurs to him that the line has been stomped on and left in the dust a long time ago.

They stumble to the bed, shrugging out of off clothes and shoving down shoes. The tray clunks as they kick it off the bed.

Ewan licks the drying whipped cream from Hayden's cheek and Hayden clings, shuddering and surrendering.

They kiss and bite and gasp out curses.

They clutch at each other and they fuck, fast and with despair in every motion. They don't speak, because formulating words would be acknowledging what they are doing and why they are doing it.

They share looks. Confused, hungry, understanding.

They force pleasure out of each other until the sun is long gone and the night is dragging its paws across the city.

 

The air is humid and heavy for May, especially nighttime. Hayden's sleep is shallow and each deep inhale he makes stirs him from his slumber.

Moonlight streaks the bedroom, making Hayden give up on sleeping and open his eyes. He reaches out for the pants lying on the floor by the bed. Pulling out the phone from one pocket, he unlocks it and a photo of Eve greets him with a smile.

He drops his head back to the pillow and stares at the screen.

„She's pretty. Have I ever told you that?”

He knows Ewan is awake by the deeper breaths he has been taking for a couple of minutes.

Ewan props himself on an elbow and his hot skin covers Hayden's back. A hand rests on Hayden's arm and warm breath appears on his neck.

„No.”

Hayden observes as the screen darkens. „Well, she is.”

Ewan strokes up and down Hayden's shoulder.

„She's beautiful,” he says.

Hayden drops the phone to the nightstand and twists his body around to look at Ewan, but his face is smothered in darkness.

Ewan leans in and pries Hayden's mouth open with his tongue.

Hayden fastens his hand in Ewan's hair and pulls, directing his head.

The sheets are warm and itchy, the air is too humid, and Ewan's hands are too eager, but Hayden soaks it all in. It's as much as he can get.

They fuck again, and Ewan mumbles almost the entire time. Hayden tunes it out. They're words of passion and urgency and empty promises, and while he could take those, the love pledges are too much. Hayden has had enough bitterness for one lifetime.

So they just fuck. They fuck until they're both raw and their bodies are an evaporating mass of limbs.

Hayden doesn't sleep this time. He thinks about stuff instead. And it occurs to him that he might not even hate France that much.

It's actually beautiful. In another life, he might even love it. Had he first seen it as a kid, he would've stood a chance.

Taking one last glance at the phone, Hayden calculates that he has enough time for one cigarette before he has to go.

He steps over clothes, stained carpet and stray apricots on his way to the balcony. He smokes not one, but two cigarettes. It's not the first promise he has broken today.

Fading moonlight follows his movements as he dresses up. He puts the nearly empty pack into a pocket of Ewan's pants and his gaze falls on the bundle of sheets on the bed. The skin of Ewan's back looks warm and inviting.

With leaded feet, Hayden turns around and quietly leaves the apartment.

He knows Ewan won't be there when he comes back, and the thought creates a dry rip in his chest. He knows this is all there is to it, and he's not okay with it.

Someday he will be.

 

 


End file.
